A Letter to My Younger Self
by ViceroyIcarus
Summary: One day, the Straw Hats receive a letter from themselves.
1. Chapter 1 - Sanji

_**~Sanji~**_

.o0o.

Sanji always had a love-hate relationship with the Sunday lunch rush. On the one hand, he loved feeding people. Knowing for a fact his patrons wouldn't be going hungry for another day gave him the deepest sense of fulfillment. Especially since the nearest island was almost 500 miles away.

On the other hand, the amount of shitty, entitled assholes that darkened their doorstep was almost too numerous to count. It left Sanji fit to be tied. From picky eaters who left half their meal untouched, to those who demanded a whole new meal because there was one hair on their mashed potatoes to snobby food critics who would throw their food on the floor in an over dramatic fashion as if to prove they were too good for it.

Sanji sat back against the outside wall of Baratie, and took a long drag of his cigarette. The grey smoke sent a wave of calm through his body. He always kept his smoking to minimum during work. This was a high class restaurant after all, no one wanted the smell of smoke hanging in the air. But he was on break now so everyone could suck it.

He flicked off the ash and watched it fly away in the sea breeze. Sanji considered the little stick of nicotine between his fingers. He remembered how cool the older chef's looked when they smoked, and how much he wanted to emulate them. Sanji could help but chuckle at himself. He was such a stupid little kid.

It took him _forever_ to be able to stomach the horrible taste of the smoke, but as soon as he could, Sanji strutted about thinking he was the hottest shit off the press. Of course, he was immediately made fun of by the other chefs, but he took it in stride. At least, he did a little.

In his defence, he was quite an angry child, and his co-workers liked to take the piss a little too much.

Still, over time as Sanji settled into his new habit, they all laid off him, thankfully. He quickly tired of getting in trouble for kicking their asses.

Sanji took another drag. As much shit he got from the other chefs and the Old Man for smoking, he realised that it came in handy for him, in a way…

It turns out extreme starvation had more long term detriments on a person than just malnutrition and shit. Those, at least, were an easy fix. What got Sanji long term was the mental problems. Well, problem. He absolutely could not _bare_ the feeling of hunger. Even feeling ever so slightly peckish was enough to send him into a frenzy back then. More than once, he had to be pulled away from the pantry for fear he would gorge himself to death.

It got to the point were Sanji was being woken up in the middle of the night by hunger pangs that would usually be sated by breakfast, making him charge down stairs and eat until the sun rose. It didn't seem to affect the Old Man as much, but Sanji assumed that as an adult he had more self control.

When Sanji took up smoking, he quickly realised that his cigarettes suppressed his appetite as a side effect. It very quickly became a godsend. Between meals - and when not cooking - he would smoke just to stave off hunger until he actually needed to eat. Now Sanji was a little behind on his medical studies, so the actual benefits of such a routine were beyond him, especially for the long term, but it certainly helped him through the worst time of his recovery. Mentally at least.

At 19 Sanji had no need for such a routine. He just enjoyed the habit. And he still through it made him look incredibly cool. Not that he'd _ever_ admit that aloud.

A loud crash sounded from inside the restaurant followed by several people yelling. Probably Patty getting shitting with a customer. Again. Sanji loved Patty - another thing he'd never admit - but that guy needed to learn proper manners. And not care so much about money.

The front door slammed open around the corner was where Sanji was sitting. The shouting became all the clearer.

"You can't do this to me!" The customer yelled, indignant, "I am a paying customer!"

Judging by the slight strain in the man's voice Patty was holding him up by the collar. Wonder what the poor bloke did? Sanji chuckled to himself. Knowing Patty like he did it could be anything an attempted dine and dash to looking up at him wrong.

"What? A paying customer that doesn't wanna pay 'cause he found a hair in his near finished soup!?" Patty retorted angrily. Sanji could hear the spittle fly, "A hair from his own damned head?"

Sanji took a long drag, trying to keep his blood from boiling. So it was one of those types of bastards. At least Patty was justified. Had it been him that the cheap bastard complained to, Sanji would have shoved the soup down his throat, plate and all.

At least Sanji trusted Patty to not waste what little food was left.

"Do you treat all your customers like this!" The asshole asked, completely ignoring the larger man's immensely valid point.

"Only the ones who are stingy bastards." Patty answered sounding smug all of a sudden. Sanji didn't have to see it to know what was going to happen. The old chef had decided what to do with the trash.

"W-wait!" the now former customer stammered, "What are you doing!? D-don't, please! I'll pay! I'll pa-AAAAAAHHHH!"

He was going to throw it out.

The pleading was immediately turned into a scream of terror that was slowly fading off into the distance. A minute or so later a soft splash could be heard. Sanji allowed himself a smirk as he put out his cigarette butt on the wooden deck.

"AND STAY OUT!" Patty called after him.

Baratie's doors slammed shut, and Sanji was outright grinning to himself. This place was pretty great sometimes.

"What the hell are you all looking at?" Came Patty's muffled voice, "And where the hell his Sanji? He's been gone like an hour!"

"I'm on break, shithead!" The younger chef yelled back as loud as he could, "I've got 10 more minutes, keep your knickers on, you big baby!"

"Hurry up then, you've got paying customers waiting on you!"

"I'll be back when I'm back!" Sanji huffed and took out another cigarette.

Only sometimes.

Sanji looked out to sea. The endless horizon stretched out before him. The ocean waves twinkled merrily in the sunlight, as if dancing to the tune of the wind above and the current below.

It was a beauty to rival that of the legendary Pirate Empress herself.

There was so much out that Sanji didn't even know what he didn't know! The islands, the food, the women. The things to do, the places to see, the thought of them all was more intoxicating to him than any wine or mead.

All Blue was out there, too.

The crown jewel of the ocean. The mythical Seventh Sea. A chef's paradise. Sanji's dream.

To be able to lay eyes on it, to simply know that it was real would allow Sanji to die happy. But not before, setting up a restaurant there and spending the rest of his days cooking there. Maybe he'd model his after Baratie? Have a float about the place to make full use of the ocean, and give people a place of respite as they journeyed through to wherever they wished to go.

That was his dream.

It was the dream that wouldn't be reality, however. For centuries there have been stories of people searching for All Blue, finding nothing that wasn't already known. What chance did he have? He was just a little cook from East Blue with dreams bigger than he had any right to have. Hell, he couldn't even get recognition from his own damned mentor.

Besides - Sanji looked up at Baratie's white painted wall, hearing a clash of pots and pans - he still had a debt to pay. He refused to move until it was.

Sanji took another long drag, blowing the smoke out as hard, and as far as he could, trying to reign in the wonderlust that had built up inside him. His dream was stupid, and so was he for dreaming it.

Looking back over the sea, trying to just enjoy the calm before he rejoined the chaos inside, a glint of light caught his eye. Something in the water was catching the sunlight. It wasn't the wave as it wasn't sparkling. It was sharp. Pointed even.

Sanji got up from his position against the wall and crawled over to the edge of the deck to try and get a good look at it. It was… a bottle?

It was, in fact, a green glass bottle, floating the waves in his direction. Sanji reached through the guard rail, for it. His curiosity was peaked. He plucked it out of the water and positioned himself to sit up against the rail.

Turning it over in his hand, Sanji would see nothing odd about it. It was a standard 550ml, green, glass beer bottle, though without any identifying label on it. It was still corked. Copenborough, if he had to guess. But, Baratie didn't stoke this brand. It was too cheap, none of their patronage drank this garbage.

It could have been a passing ship dumping its garbage into the sea? Or maybe this bottle was just chucked overboard? That didn't explain why it was still corked. It was too light to have any beer in it, but, giving it a shake, there was definitely something inside of it. A letter maybe?

That made Sanji's heart lift a little. He'd always wanted to find a message in a bottle. It was another stupid thing, but then again the whole concept of putting a letter in a bottle and hoping the tide would somehow carry it to where you wanted it to go was stupid. It was a snapshot into someone's life, and what the most important thing to them was at the time.

So, that begged the question; what was inside this one? A child's letter to Santa? A message to a lost family member or loved one? A letter of love from a beautiful woman for her far away lover?

Oh, how Sanji wished it would be the latter.

Grabbing the cork, Sanji pulled it out with a twist. It gave a satisfying squeak and a small pop as it slid out easily. Upturning the bottle, its contents fell out easily. The paper has a yellowish tint to it, as if it was quite old. That would make sense. The nearest island was hundreds of miles away. It was rolled up nice and tight, held together by a thin, red piece of string.

Sanji didn't have much time before his break ended. He needed to read this fast. He pulled on the loose end of the string all but begging for it to be a love letter. The string came apart easily, unfurling the paper.

He unrolled it fully and began to read.

'_A Letter to My Younger Self'_ it read. So… not a love letter. Damn, that was disappointing, but whoever wrote this must have learned a lot in life to write to his past self. It could be interesting nonetheless.

_To younger me,_

_I don't exactly know what to write here because we weren't given much to go on other than to not give out any details. Just that we could give you some shitty advice or something. I'm not entirely sold. But I have some shit I wanna say, so why the hell not?_

_If you're getting this letter when I think you're getting it, you've got some shit ahead of you. A lot of shit is gonna go wrong, some of it as a direct result of you_. _But, so much more will go right in the long run. I'm not gonna tell you something corny like 'don't worry' or some shit. I know you won't. This is more of a 'heads up' than anything else._

What kind of stupid hindsight lesson was this? Sanji scoffed aloud. '_I won't say don't worry because I know you won't?'_. What rubbish. But… there was something familiar about these first two paragraphs that he could quite put his finger on. Rereading didn't help ring any bells. Maybe it was the almost excessive use of the word 'shit'?

_More to the point, I want to warn you about 'them'. You will meet them again, whether you like it or not, and they are all even more rotten than you last remember. Sure, you don't remember much of them anymore. It was better off like that. But, what they are now, or should I say, what they always were, and you, being too young to realise, was that they are scum. The lowest you could ever find. The only possible exception is Reiju._

Sanji's heart skipped a beat, turning his blood to ice. There was no way. It must have been another group of incredibly shitty people with someone named Reiju. Her name was common enough wasn't it? He read the words once more, desperately looking for any possibility that it wasn't them. The whole paragraph was written like the author was pressing his pen angrily against the page. Certain words looked like the pen almost ripped the page trying to write them.

What was the possibility that whoever wrote this letter had a run in with the Germa 66, and wanted to tell his younger self about it. Only for it to end up in Sanji's hands. What were the odds…

What if it was for him?

That horrible thought almost made him drop the paper. Sanji fought the urge to look at the signature at the bottom. There was no way in hell it was for him. What? Did his future self find a way to send a letter through time, just so it could float to him on an ocean wave? That would be absurd.

Yet… it still made sweat roll down his brow. The way the first paragraphs were phrased, made it seem like that's just what the author was expecting. Sanji swallowed thickly and continued reading.

_What I want to tell you is that when the time comes trust your friends. Now, I know what you're thinking. 'What friends?' You'll meet them soon enough. They will become as much your family as Patty, Carne, the Old Man, and everyone else on Baratie. Trust them. Tell them about Germa, no matter how much you think it's 'your problem'. They'll stand with you, and face down the World. It's happened before._

Sanji's jaw dropped. That all but confirmed it. This letter was written for him by his older self. How was this even possible? The Old Man had always said that strange things happened at sea, but surely even this was a bit much. Maybe it was one of those Devil Fruits he read about that one time?

The mere idea that he would ever have to meet up with those heartless bastards ever again was enough to make Sanji want to vomit. For years that chapter of his life had been close. He had moved on. That it might be ripped open like an old wound scared him shitless.

How could he tell anyone about this? Who would even believe him? If not about his former family, then about this damned letter. Sanji didn't _want_ to tell anyone. It was his past, his problem to deal with, and no one else needed to be involved.

But, wasn't that exactly what this letter was warning him against? Trying to solve a problem by himself when he clearly didn't have to. His future self had people he could depend on to such a high degree, and regretted not sharing his connection to the Germa 66 with them.

Maybe, Sanji would be able to meet these people? It could be _years_ before he gets that chance.

_Now's were I say it; Don't worry. Despite meeting those shitty bastards again, everything works out for the best, and the adventure you go on is worth so much more. _

_I know what it's like for you right now. You feel trapped. But you'll never admit it because Baratie is home. It's the Old Man's dream. If you were to, in someway, say anything against it, it would feel like you're insulting that fact. But, maybe, just maybe, if you could get some acknowledgement from the Old Man then your debt would be repaid and you could move on. You're so stuck on that fact that you started repressing your own dreams and ambitions just so you wouldn't grow restless. _

_You're a goddamn idiot. I can't tell you the details of what's to come, but you are so far off the mark with everything. When you meet your friends you'll know why. Learning from a shitty scrap of paper won't do you any good. You'll meet them soon, so be ready._

_Regards, Sanji._

Sanji didn't know how to react. How could he? He had just been called out by his future self through the medium of time travelling paper. His situation right now had been summed up in its entirety only to be called stupid. If it were anyone else Sanji would call bullshit. What did they know about him and his life? But this left no doubt in his mind. This was his future self who had found some way to send this letter back to him. The only person who knew Sanji, was Sanji.

Whatever had happened to his older self had benefited him and it would happen to himself soon enough. It would allow him to leave Baratie with no regrets. It left Sanji feeling hopeful for the future. That what lay before him wasn't a lifetime working under the Old Man, searching for any shred of validation.

Soon, or not, it could still be some ways off before anything came to pass. Until then, Sanji had good food to make and shitty customers to serve. If he remembered correctly some hot shot Marine Lieutenant was booked in for this afternoon for a date or something. If Sanji was lucky, it would be with a pretty lady, giving him a chance to sweep her off her feet!

Grinning stupidly Sanji got to his feet. He almost crumpled up the letter when he noticed the post script at the bottom of the page.

_P.S. I forgot to mention you get to live with two of the most beautiful and wonderful women on the planet! Serving them food at all times of the day! It truly is a beautiful life!_

Fuck waiting! When could he sign up? Living with two beautiful women day in and day out sounded amazing! Sanji lost himself to the feeling of Love. He could already imagine them! One feisty and outgoing, while the other was more reserved and mature but both equally amazing! It made his heart want to dance!

Oh, how he hated his future self now! He was off living the dream with gorgeous women while he, in the present, was still here making food surrounded by the sausage fest that was the Baratie staff. It wasn't fair!.

"Sanji! Hurry the hell up!" Came the unwanted interruption by Carne, "You're break ended five minutes ago!"

Sanji stopped his gleeful dancing to glare in direction of his co-worker's voice, "I'm coming now! Quit your whingeing, you big baby!" he growled.

With one last look over the paper Sanji grinned. He crumpled up the letter and threw it out to sea as far as he could. If he kept it he'd only dwell on it. If it held true, then he didn't need to worry, and if it didn't, then it was business as usual. Also he'd never trust dodgy letters in bottles ever again.

Sanji pushed open the doors to Baratie. Time to get back to work.

.o0o.

_**(Notes: So new story! Simple enough premise that I've not seen before on this site in all my years of using it. Probably missed it tbh. Either way, here's my take on it.**_

_**So there will be 10 chapters. One for each Straw Hat. I will make a concerted effort to make the message of each letter different so that each chapter doesn't feel samey. But, some characters messages really will just be 'Don't worry about it'.**_

_**This story will be updated weekly. Twice a week if you're good.**_

_**Last thing. I crave feedback! Tell me what you think! I want to improve as a writer, and I can't do that with a silent audience.**_

_**Thanks for your time!)**_


	2. Chapter 2 - Robin

_**~Robin~**_

.o0o.

The view from atop Rain Diners was _spectacular_. Robin could see all of Rain Base splayed out before her as it merged into the mountains on the horizon. It was late afternoon, and the sun was high in the sky baking the world with a thick layer of heat. The city below was positively bustling with life. It was as if the rising tensions and coming civil war has been put on hold so everyone could enjoy such a lovely day.

Robin hated all of it.

She hated the hustle of the city. She hated how crowded and sweaty it was. She hated the people. All of them walking around like they did have a care in the world, talking about completely asinine and vapid topics like 'what kind of dresses did the princess wear?' or 'when the new season of sports would start up again.'

It was as if they didn't know their beloved princess was missing and their country was being fooled into rebellion by one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.

Looking down on the populace from her position on high, Robin felt no small amount of contempt for them. Like ants, they were. Completely ignorant of the larger picture. She took a sip of her ico cold martini and sighed.

Her dislike of the people of Alabasta was largely displaced from her general contempt for the world around her. Robin knew that much. She just couldn't bring herself to care. These people belonged to one of the oldest kingdoms in the world. Dating back to the Void Century itself. Yet if you were to ask anyone on the street they would just stare at you like you dribbled on your shirt. If you were lucky someone may know about 'an old tomb or something'.

Their ignorance was repugnant.

The age of this country alone should be a point of pride! It was one of the original 20 nations that founded the World Government, and regardless of Robin's personal biases to that particular organization it was something that should have been known throughout the land. Especially since the Nefertari family refused to 'ascend' with the other families.

But, nobody seemed to care.

Robin just couldn't wrap her head around that. Why wouldn't you want to know? Didn't anyone wonder what the reason behind certainly holidays was? Or why Jackals and Hawks were symbols of Alabasta? Surely, such knowledge could only enrich their lives. Make them wiser and more worldly people. Even if their knowledge only focused on their country.

Clearly they didn't think so. The people of Alabasta seemed happy to wallow in their ignorance.

Setting her glass down on the brickwork that made up the waist high wall around Rain Diners roof, Robin felt her shoulders slump feeling the weight of the world. What did she know? She was just 'the scary woman who ran the Diner.' An outsider.

That's what Robin hated most. Their sense of belonging. These people, for all their ignorance, for all their vapidness, were happy. Happy with their lot in life. Where they were, and what they knew didn't matter. They were _happy_.

No. 'Hate' wasn't the correct word…

Jealous.

Robin was jealous of them.

She hated the weather, she hated her "job", and she hated the man she worked for, but she couldn't hate these people. How could she? Their only crime was enjoying themselves. It wasn't fair for Robin to despise them just because she was envious.

These people accepted each other. The lived off each others happiness even when their country was divided, and on the verge of civil war. Robin _longed_ for that. To feel like she was wanted somewhere, by _someone_. But that could never happen. Not anymore.

She remembered all those blissful days spent in the Great Library. Reading and learning all she could. Soaking up information like a dessicated sponge. The smell of old, dusty tomes filled their air. For Robin, it was the smell of home. The walls were filled with books farther than her eye could see. She would chat to the archaeologists about their new discoveries, her studies, and book recommendations.

Robin allowed herself a small smile. Professor Clover's lessons where the best. He was always so animated when teaching students! Standing on tables, hopping from one end of the room to another, reenacting whatever historical events he was lecturing on that day. For years Robin never missed a single one. Privately of course. The topics in Professor Clover's lectures were often far too mature for her 6 year old ears. At least that's what he told her. She was convinced Clover had no idea, until the day of his final lecture before her exam, he looked over to her sprouted eye and ear, and gave her a cheeky wink. It filled her stomach with butterflies just thinking about it.

That was where Nico Robin belonged. Nowhere else.

Those days were long gone now…

It was as if the world itself had decided that she was not allowed to be happy. Any joy she felt in her life would be either taken swiftly, and often violently, from her, or would be balanced out with an equal dose of misery.

All those years spent in the library was met with the genocide of her people, her mentors, and her only friend. Then a 79 million beli bounty on her head guaranteed she'd never be happy again. Not without recompense, at least.

Robin wanted to give it all up. To run and hide from the world. She'd dreamed of it as a teen, when she still held some optimism for the world. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a small island, become a teacher, and maybe find a nice man to settle down with. Then by the time the World caught up with her, she'd be old and decrepit. Satisfied with life.

How foolish she was.

It was a fact that was difficult to accept, but one Robin had. There was nowhere in the world that she belonged. Everywhere she went was just another stop over where she'd find a group to muddle up with, then betray them as soon as they grew suspicious. Even now, Alabasta felt like that, despite it being the longest Robin had ever stayed in one place.

Crocodile had made no secret of his intentions for her. Robin was painfully aware. Their's was an alliance of convenience. There was a single Poneglyph in Alabasta. She wanted it to be the Rio Poneglyph, and he wanted it to be the location of Pluton. He'd give her the resources and opportunity to search for it unabated, and she would translate it for him once found.

Of course, whatever the result, it would end up with her dead at Crocodile's hand.

If the poneglyph contained the location of Pluton, then he would have no need for her, kill her and then hand over her head for her bounty. If, by some miracle, it was the Rio Poneglyph that Robin dreamed of, then Crocodile would most likely be so apoplectically angry, he would just kill her in cold blood thinking that she lied to him in some way, and ruining his plans in the process. Either way she was dead. At least, if it was the latter, Robin could die happy.

Not that Robin was gonna just _let_ Crocodile kill her. She still had some pride after all. She patted the pocket of her overcoat. The vial of water was still there. It wasn't much, but at the very least it would give her a fighting chance against him.

But was it even worth it?

Robin looked down the steep slope of Rain Diners' walls. A fatal drop surely. Even if she'd be rolling to the ground for the last hundred or so feet. The ground at the bottom looked very appealing.

Was it worth it?

There was so much going against her. As had been the norm for the past twenty years, but now in this very moment Robin felt the weight of all of it. The only reason she hadn't been hunted by the Marines for so long was her use of an alias and that her actual name wasn't kept on any documents in Baroque Works' transactions. Plus her running background operations for the organization kept her out of the limelight.

Regardless of that fact, no matter where she looked, Robin saw only two outcomes once this whole ordeal came to a head. Both depending on the contents of Alabasta's poneglyph. Both ending in her death. The only real change was whether she could die happy or not, and to be perfectly honest, she was questioning even that.

If, by some miracle, Robin did get out alive, then what? It was back on the metaphorical road for her, travelling aimlessly, betraying her way from island to island. A life she was loath to return to. But what could she do? Work for the Revolutionaries? No. She didn't care enough about the world to help them. Besides, it's not like they'd take in someone like her anyway. There was nowhere she could go that would be out of the government's reach.

Robin was tired of it all. All the running. All the betrayal. All the loneliness. She just wanted it to end. It took her three hours to get out of bed this morning, and even longer to actually get washed and dressed. And not for the first time. This had been her morning ritual for the last week. No one said anything to her on account of her being scary, and Crocodile wasn't around enough to care.

She was long past the point of putting in the minimum amount of effort into her "job" at the head of Baroque Works and Rain Diners, instead spending most of her time trying to research more of Alabasta's history. Which in and of itself, was becoming harder for Robin to commit to.

Nico Robin growing weary of reading. What was the world coming to?

It was the memory of Clover, Saul, and her mother that kept Robin on the right side of the railing. She carried the Will of Ohara on her back. She needed to find the Rio Poneglyph or their deaths would have all been in vain. But with each passing day her doubt grew. The chances of Alabasta's poneglyph being _the_ Rio Poneglyph was so astronomically small it was almost guaranteed not to be.

If the Rio Poneglyph was located in Alabasta, sure it would have been found years ago? Wouldn't the genocidal World Government had the entire island sunk below the waves with a Buster Call just to hide it? It's what they did to Ohara for just learning to read a single poneglyph.

'But what if it was' The rebelliously hopeful voice in the back of her head asked her, 'The Nefertaris were the only family to reject ascension. What if they were charged with guarding it? It would explain why it hasn't been found, and why the Government wasn't looking for it.'

That mere possibility was what kept her going. Robin _needed _to know. That curiosity and lust for knowledge was what had been instilled in her from her first days in Ohara's libraries. Even if she had no plans for whatever information she gathered. Even if she had no plans for her life after gathering it. Robin believed the world to be a better place for someone knowing it.

A small clink of glass beside pulled Robin sharply out of her thoughts.

The sudden noise made her jump, sending her own glass tumbling over the edge of the building. Her head whipped around wildly for the source of the noise. Had someone snuck up on her? How did they get so close?

Quickly Robin realized where it had come from. It was a green beer bottle perched on the wall not two feet from her right. It was unopened, and lacked a label. How did it get there? Robin's paranoia flared. She spawned as many eyes and ears as she could over Rain Diners and the surrounding buildings searching for anyone who could have left it.

No one. There was no one within a reasonable distance that could have possibly left this bottle and gotten out of her view in time. A Devil Fruit maybe? No, that was unlikely. If it was proximity based then there was no one in or around Rain Diners acting suspiciously. If it was speed based then why just drop off the bottle? A message? Then why not a letter? If it was a trap then surely a speed based Devil Fruit could just take Robin out without her even realising.

What was this?

Satisfied there was no foul play involved Robin turned her attention back to the beer bottle. Her heart still thundered in her ears. She took pride in her spatial awareness and how difficult it was to sneak up on her, yet someone, or something, had left this here without her realising. It was a little unnerving.

Robin kept her distance. She summoned a new pair of hands to open the bottle with. If it _was_ some kind of trap, then she'd be safe. She gave the bottle a quick shake. There was something inside of it that was liquid. Paper maybe?

Gently, Robin teased the cork out of the bottle. It came free with a squeak and a soft pop. No reaction. It was safe. She passed the now open bottle to herself. A look down the neck confirmed it did indeed contain a small, tightly wound roll of paper. Robin couldn't help but smirk at that. How quaint, it was a letter in a bottle.

The paper slid from the bottle with ease as she tipped it out into her hand. It looked old. Its edges were yellowed, and it was stiff to the touch. The paper would probably break were she to handle it roughly. How curious.

Robin pulled at the little red string that help the roll together, and it came undone surprisingly smoothly. For something clearly so old she expected a little more resistance from it. Well, time to read what someone was so desperate for her to see.

She unfurled the paper with expert care, ensuring that it would not crumble. Robin's breath caught in her throat. What she saw on the paper almost made her drop it. It was _her _handwriting. Robin had just received a letter from herself.

There was just no way.

_Dear Younger Me_ it read. There was no mistaking it. The way the capital letters were written, along with the tight, and uniform neatness of words was too familiar to Robin. How was this possible.

Her mind raced at a million miles per hour over how this could happen. What could the letter contain? Was it a warning? The use of '_Younger Me_' implied it was from a future Robin, so maybe it was a warning like in those Science Fantasy books were something goes horribly wrong and the protagonist has to warn himself before it happens.

It could still be a trick… Robin's common sense kicked in. While her previous hypothesis was still plausible through the use of an extremely powerful Devil Fruit, it was still more likely to be some kind of trap. Mr. 2 could copies people appearances, so why not an ability to copy other things, like handwriting. She had sent out more than a few letters in her time, it was possible for a person with such an ability to get ahold of one, and use it to lead her into a trap.

Of the two immediate possibilities, Robin certainly hoped it was the former. That was at least a fun idea.

_Dear Younger Me,_

_I can only imagine the suspicion in which you are treating this letter. I'd be surprised if you hadn't tested this paper for at least 7 different kinds of poison embedded onto its surface, each designed to trigger a slow, and agonizing death on contact. Or a few hours later. Who knows… _

Ah, poison. Robin felt like facepalming. She hadn't hadn't considered contact based poison yet. An amateur mistake on her part. Still, if this was some kind of trap, the person had her manner of informal writing down pat.

_It's understandable, really. Not many people can say they expect to get a letter from themselves and not expect to be committed. So to ease your concerns, and to prove that this really is your older self, let me say this;_

_Saul was right._

The letter fluttered to the ground. Robin felt like she had been punched in the gut. There were only two people alive who knew about her connection to Saul. Robin herself, and Admiral Aokiji. No one else could possibly have known. She hadn't even so much as uttered his name in _years_. And the message…

Saul was right.

The giant's last words to her had given her hope for the best part of a decade. Hope that she might find friends, a home, a place to belong. But, with time, Robin had given up on it, chalking his words as a motivational speech to help her through such a traumatic experience.

Even then, Robin still held them dear to her heart, as the last gift anyone had even given her. What Saul taught her - those words and the ability to laugh - helped her survive. Not as practical skills mind, but as a way to keep her chin up through the worst of it. Those single handedly helped her through her teen years.

Now, his words, his legacy even, was being confirmed to her, by someone Robin was being forced to acknowledge, was herself. From the future. A quick glance at the signature at the bottom confirmed it.

Saul was right. Robin read the words again. She found them, the friends Saul promised she would. Those three words held more weight than a mountain for her. No amount of gold, or jewels, or knowledge could equal the worth they held for Robin.

Her sinuses were beginning to sting something fierce as tears welled up the corner of her eyes. No. Robin wiped them away on her sleeve. Not yet. She needed to know what else she had to say.

_Sometimes I still can't believe it myself. Occasionally I wake up in the night thinking someone has snuck with intent to end me, only for it to be Nami mumbling in her sleep. Then I remember that I am safe, and have been for a long time. It is the greatest feeling._

_Now, I can't share too many details, as it was part of the deal that allowed me to send this letter, but I do wanna give you a message, one that ties into Saul. _

_It's something I have 'umm-ed' and 'ahh-ed' about for quite some time now. Who wouldn't think about what they would tell their younger selves, after all? Especially after the life you and I have lead. But I decided on what needs to be said, or rather, what you need to hear._

_Your existence is not a crime. You deserve to live, and be happy. Remember that._

_Sometimes I've needed to remind myself of it, too. But thankfully, the friends we meet make it very hard to forget. They will fight the World for us. In fact, it was them that taught me that lesson, and in time they will teach you it as well._

_I won't lie and pretend that this is just around the corner, or that it will be easy in any way. The worst is yet to come for you. It will be a fight to keep your head above water at times, but I __promise_ _it is worth it. I'll forgo my little 'no details' embargo and tell you that if you get this when I intend you to, it will be about 4 months, before there are any signs of things getting better. Until then, remember those words, and everything will be fine._

_Regards, Nico Robin._

She was speechless. This couldn't be real. There was no way on all the Blue Seas was this real. Nico Robin… got to be happy? She felt absolutely silly putting it like that, but her unhappiness was something that she accepted as a part of life. The idea that there _were_ indeed people who would care for her was almost alien.

It lit up this warm feeling in her chest, that radiated to the ends of all of her limbs. It was so comforting and familiar, but Robin barely recognised it. It had been so long since she felt like this…

This was joy.

Tears were running unhindered down her cheeks now. It didn't matter if Robin would have to go through whatever hell was to come, she would bare it so long as she made it out alive. Just so she could meet her friends. Whoever this Nami was, Robin was incredibly eager to meet her.

Gods, she felt so childish. Robin wiped her eyes on her sleeve again, and sniffing loudly. Thank goodness no one else was around to see her in such a state. It would ruin her reputation.

Robin laughed to herself. She felt so light, like she could leap to the moon and back! Those words. She never thought that anyone would say that about her. That anyone _could_ say that about her. What a weird way for her to hear it too. A letter from her older self. Truly nothing was impossible on these seas.

Rolling up the letter, Robin placed it carefully into her coat pocket, and turned to go back inside. She needed to get cleaned up, lest anyone question her.

So 4 months. It didn't really mean much, especially given that she specifically said '_before there are any signs of things getting better'_. Robin could meet them all tomorrow but they could all hate her for months. Maybe that was the 'worst' her older self referred to? Who knew?

Regardless of that fact, Robin had work to do until then. Work she had been shirking off. Motivation filled her with fire in her veins. If she helped Crocodile overthrow Alabasta faster, would that speed things along? Could do. It didn't matter either way, she still needed to find that poneglyph and get her answer from it.

Now that Nico Robin had something to aim towards. Something beyond this scheme she was involved in, she felt like she could do anything. She considered the letter in her pocket. Could it be that that was its original intent? To spur her on? A dark thought passed through Robin's mind. What if her older self did jump from the roof this day? Could it be that that was something she regretted, and hoped to change? Or was she just overthinking a letter sent to her purely to cheer herself up?

Who knew?

Robin would have to burn the letter anyway. It would raise too many awkward questions. Not before she read it 5, or maybe 6 more times of course.

All of a sudden Robin felt herself stand taller than she had in years, as she walked through the halls of Rain Diners. Her future was once a dark place, that ended abruptly. Now it was bright and full of possibilities.

Robin couldn't wait for it.

.o0o.

_**(Notes: So that's Robin outta the way. She's by far my favourite character and I wanted to get her chapter done as soon as possible because otherwise it would distract me from everyone else's, and that wouldn't be fair.**_

_**I took a lot of liberties with this chapter in terms of where Robin is mentally, but I'm convinced that with her life she's had more than her fair share of dark days, so I just hope I've done it believably.**_

_**Tell me what you think!**_

_**As always, thanks for your time!)**_


	3. Chapter 3 - Brook

_**~Brook~**_

.o0o.

Brook was going to go out on a limb and say that fog was rather boring. It was so grey, and dark, _and_ dull. All swirly and ominous. Seriously, couldn't this never ending hell fog lighten up? Even just a little? It was starting to hurt his eyes. Not that he had any to begin with.

There was only so long one could sit and try to make out shapes in the fog before it became tedious, and repetitive. Spotted one blurry budgie, spotted them all really. It not like there was anything else to fog either. The only sound was of the ocean waves and the creaking of a derelict ship. It smelled bad too. Like rotting wood and seaweed. Though, that might have been the aforementioned ship as it slowly decayed into nothing.

It was enough to drive a man to madness. And it had. Brook lost count how many times he lost himself to insanity only to come round again. Another thing he found boring.

Lifting his empty tea cup with one hand from its cracked saucer, held in the other, Brook took a nice long sip. It helped calm his nerves as he paced around in large circles on the deck. He missed tea. He couldn't remember what it tasted like, but he missed it nonetheless.

There was a lot of things Brook couldn't remember. The taste of food for one. Any rations on the ship were either stolen in the raid that killed his crew, or rotted into dust by now. It had been too long since he had an actual meal. Brook _longed_ for a good curry. Hell, not even a good one, a regular curry would do just fine.

His want to eat had been the source of at least 3 mental breakdowns in the last two decades or so. Could have been more… There was that one time Brook _really_ wanted some spaghetti. Okay so maybe 5 or 6 was a better guesstimate.

'Guesstimate'. Was that a word? Brook wondered. It wasn't whenever he was still alive, it was always either 'guess' or 'estimate'. Those were simpler times. So did that mean he just coined a new word? That would be incredibly nice. He'd never coined a word before.

Well, not one that made sense at least. Brook was still trying to come up with a meaning for 'contrafibularities'.

A lot can change in 50 years, maybe some bright eyed youth had come up with the term 'guesstimate' and at least 73 other conjoined words that all had their own unique meaning, while he struggled to come up with one. It's possible Brook would never know.

There was a lot of things he wouldn't know, Brook considered. 50 years is a long time for anyone. Who knows what whacky creations or social movements had come to pass. Maybe the World Government had finally fallen! Maybe Ohara had discovered all the World's knowledge? That would be incredible.

Sadly, Brook didn't think he would ever get to know. He paced the deck in wide circles, drinking from his empty cup. It was this blasted fog. No one dared brave the Florian Triangle. Ships went missing in this mysterious, decayed and ugly stretch of ocean for centuries.

There were legends. Stories of vicious sea monsters that would feast on Sea Kings swallowing ships whole. Tales of other lost ships haunted by their former crews attacking those foolish enough to wander into these cursed waters, only to disappear into the mist, as if they were never there.

Brook, of course, never put any stock into those myths for two reasons. One; he'd been sailing the Florian Triangle for 50 odd years now. He had not seen hide nor hair of any sea monster or ghost ships. Maybe the occasional unholy moan, but that was probably just a passing Sea King. And two; he was deathly afraid of ghosts. Having any faith in those rumours would mean admitting ghosts were real, and no. No. Brook would not have that.

Thus, it left him in this endless state of perpetual limbo, where nothing happened, nothing changed, just Brook. Surrounded by the skeletons of his friends. He couldn't even remember their faces. Well, he could. Just not very well. He could see them all laughing, smiling, and dying, but he couldn't hear their voices anymore.

This once mighty ship was filled with the song and cheer of the Rumbar Pirates now lay vacant, with only the passing whispers of half forgotten memories drifting across its deck. Oh how Brook longed for those times. To be together with his crew, partaking in over the top merriment wherever they went. Even in the coldest winters, the air always felt a little warmer with them around.

At this point Brook would be happy with hallucinating about them again. For years after he woke up from death, he saw them all over the ship, like nothing happened. Obvious side effects of his frayed mental state. But now, decades later, they were gone. It was all very depressing.

Was Brook depressed? He wasn't sure. He to have been on some level, given everything that happened, but he certainly didn't feel it. Then again, he didn't really have any notion of what depression was like. Both he and the entire Rumbar Pirates were all a mightily jolly bunch very few members suffered from such an affliction. At least, not that he remembered. So maybe Brook was depressed, and just didn't know about it? Maybe.

It wasn't like he could do anything about it anyway if he were. He wasn't going anywhere, and there were not professionals to talk to for miles. Lest he wished to discuss his feelings with the unearthly abominations that may or may not lurk in the shadows. Not likely. Besides, Brook wasn't going to be throwing himself overboard any time soon. He had a promise to keep.

Laboon was waiting for him, and he refused to die until they met again. Brook had no idea how long of a second life he was given. For all he knew, the Revive-Revive Fruit was a continuation of his current life. Meaning he could drop dead at any minute. Or, it was a new life span from the start, and if so, he was just round half way through it giving him about another 50 years to be found and taken away from this dreary hell.

Or, there was no limit, and Brook was to remain alive until he was killed. Useful for sure, but not an option Brook was fond of. On the one hand it meant he had not time limit to get back to Laboon, seeing as no one really knows how long Island Whales could live, but on the other, it meant Brook could be adrift in the Florian Triangle, left to fall to insanity completely. Losing his sense of self, and of the world around him, falling to demons that didn't exist. Not an exciting proposition for sure.

Whatever way Brook's devil fruit worked it wasn't likely to end well for him. Admittedly, he had come to terms with that fact long ago, but a small part of him always held out hope. Hope that he would be saved. Hoped that the ship would hit a current and be pulled out of the Triangle. Hope that he'd be set free in some way.

That's just the kind of person Brook was. Perpetually hopeful. With the life he's lead, how could be pessimistic? Possible depression aside, the feeling of hope is what kept him going through these trying times. How could he face his crew, no, face _Laboon_ if he gave up so easily! The mere idea of it was offensive to Brook's moral fibre!

Great! Now he was upset! The simple act of pacing about and thinking about things had gotten Brook's blood boiling! Even though he had no blood to boil. He let out a small 'yohoho' to himself. He needed a sit down. All this exercise was making him tired!

Stopping right where he was, Brook plonked himself on the ground, making sure as to not drop either the cup or saucer he was holding. They were his favourite set. They were also the last pair he had. All the other fine china was either a mismatch or straight up broken. Living on a ransacked, derelict ship was quite inconvenient sometimes.

Now that he was seated, maybe a few sips of tea would calm his fraying nerves. That's was Brook was hoping for as he drank from his empty cup. He brought the rim of the cup to his teeth, and began to sip, trying to imagine the taste of tea when a light rumble echoed across the fog. It made the skeleton freeze in place.

The sound made his blood sour in his veins, despite his lack of either. Brook knew this ship better than his own bones. It had been his home for all of his un-life. He was familiar with every rotted floorboard, every shard of broken porcelain, every inch of mould, and nothing could create the noise he was currently hearing.

Ever so slowly, Brook turned around - cup still at his teeth - towards the source of the ominous sound. He could feel his bones rattle in place. What if it _was_ a ghost? Maybe they - the ghosts - had been lost in this fog like himself, and had only now found him. His terror addled mind saw the logic in that.

The thought of a gang of vengeful spirits, angered by a long journey lost in the mist scared the poor musician to no end. Were they angry he trespassed on their waters? It wasn't his fault, the ship's rudder was broke. This wasn't good. Brook's teeth clacked loudly as they began to chatter in fear. Every single one of his nonexistent muscles were pulled tighter than a rope lifting a 1 ton crate.

This was it. This was where he finally met his doom.

When Brook's head turned completely to face the bow of the ship, he was met not with a horde of malevolent spectres ready to pull his soul from his body through his eyes - even though he didn't have eyes anymore - but… a bottle?

Coming from the bow was a green, glass, beer bottle rolling steadily towards him. Oh. That was anticlimactic. Here was Brook, looking for some form of excitement in his ongoing war against boredom. Alas, it was not to be. Still, it was something to break the tedium. He hadn't had a beer bottle appear out of nowhere before.

Said beer bottle rolled easily up to Brook, who had shifted position so that he was ready to receive it. It looked almost merry to the musician, as it bobbled along the debris. It's every ping of a piece of wood played in major, the soft shuffle of whatever the bottle's contents were provided a nice base, however slight. All it needed was something to set the tempo and rhythm and had the makings of a cheery little melody.

Ah, the joys of music, Brook thought happily, anything could make a song if one looked hard enough. Truly it was the breath of life.

He almost didn't pick up the bottle just so it would keep rolling and he could try and make a song of it. It could be an occasion he would remember for decades to come. Brook resisted, however. His curiosity was far stronger than his want to create music. A song could be written at any time, but a bottle from nowhere? That could be a once in a lifetime occurrence.

Brook grabbed the bottle as soon as it was in reach. It was light. Whatever was inside of it didn't weigh much, but he figured that out when he heard the noise it made when rolling. The skeleton turned the bottle over in hand, studying every detail he could.

It was green. Already established but a closer look confirmed it. It's glass was in good condition, unlike anything Brook had anything aboard with him, reaffirming that it, in fact, materialise from the aether and he wasn't going mad. Again. The design of the bottle was familiar in the same way that all beer bottles were familiar but Brook didn't recognise it otherwise. Which was to be expected.

"Now," Brook spoke softly to the bottle, "What secrets do you hold?"

He grabbed the cork with his boney fingers and pried it out easily. He tipped out a neatly bound roll of paper. It was tied up with a thin piece of red string. How interesting. When he asked about it's secrets he was being metaphorical, yet it seemed this little bottle did indeed have some stories to tell. Untying the paper, Brook unrolled it in hand. The material was crisp to touch and felt akin to parchment. The yellowing edges certainly leant to that appearance.

The words on the page revealed it to be a letter. How wonderful! Brook laughed joyfully. Maybe it was for him? He couldn't even remember the last time he got a letter! Who was it from? How did they find him? What kind of Devil Fruit would allow a person to seemingly teleport items around? So many questions!

_Dear my younger self,_

The handwriting looked familiar. Was it a friend?

_Hello younger me! It's me, Brook! _

Ah, it was a letter from himself. So maybe he was going insane again. That was unfortunate, however this was no less a novel experience, even if it was going to be followed up with the inevitable unravelling of his mind, and loss of all functions as a human being.

Brook liked to remain positive about these things.

_I know you'll be having a hard time believing what you're seeing - even though you have no eyes! - especially given where you are but, I can assure you it is in fact me, the future you. Laboon is waiting for us back with Crocus. _

The skeleton was skeptical. It wouldn't be the first time his mind has played tricks on him like this, but he would give it the benefit of the doubt. This letter did seem very genuine. The light, loopy letters seemed to jump off the page with enthusiasm.

Though, a thought occurred to Brook. If his future self had been kind enough to send him a letter, then how could he, present Brook, make a reply? It was only good manners after all. Maybe the letter would tell him?

_Now, on to the reason I am writing you this letter. Myself, and the rest of our crew, have been granted the wonderful opportunity to send a letter of advice to our younger selves, under the strict conditions that we do not share any details of the future._

_Because of this rule, I must keep my message brief. I do not want to risk any potential changes that may leave you stranded. Given everything that has happened to me, and I hope will happen to you, that would be the worst thing to happen._

_So, you should be receiving this letter about three years before you meet a monster by the name of Gecko Moria. I would have had this letter sent to you sooner, but I thought it impolite to give such short notice._

_Moria is horrible pirate, far beyond anything of the crew that killed the Rumbar Pirates. He will make the prospect of leaving the Florian Triangle unappealing, and he is something you will have to live with for quite a while._

_As daunting as that sounds, I need to inform you that it is a message of hope. One day you will meet a remarkable man. A man that will lead you out of the dark and give you a chance to fulfill your promise to Laboon, and all he asked in return is your friendship._

_I can tell you now, he is a man I would give my second life for._

_The message we must carry to Laboon is a grave one indeed, but meeting this man and his friends - our friends - the adventures they have given me means that I will have so many more stories full of joy and cheer. I, no, we will be able to tell Laboon about how we sailed with the King of the Pirates._

_Until then my younger self, remain strong. There is so much more to come._

_Kindest Regards,_

_Brook._

The musician stared at the paper in his hand for an eternity. His non-existent eyes reading and re-reading the paper over and over again. There was no way this was real. There couldn't be. It had to be some cruel trick played on him by his own decaying mind.

Brook hoped it were real. He willed it. There was no coming back if it wasn't.

This paper held so much hope and joy that the musician found himself lost for words. He would get out of this thrice damned fog once and for all. He would be saved by a great, great man, and in a roundabout way, complete the journey the Rumbar Pirates set out to complete all those years ago.

Then most of all, he would be able to keep his promise.

Tears began welling up in Brook's eye sockets. This was too much. The fear that he would simply wake up to find that this had all been a dream was excruciating. Yet, he felt a glimmer of hope. This _was_ real. The letter had come from his future self, and everything he said was true. That he would be able to breathe fresh air once more. Be able to see the blue sky in all its glory.

The thought of it was _liberating._

It would not be without trials. Whoever this 'Moria' was he must have been terrifying if he was able to take away the elation Brook was feeling right now. The mere prospect of seeing the sun again was intoxicating. It seemed like no one could take it away from him! Making Moria all the more frightening. But! He had affirmation of his future self! He just needed to stay strong.

Gently, Brook rolled up the letter and stored it carefully into a tattered pocket of his coat, then pulled out his violin from his rib cage. The urge to play had overwhelmed him! He rested its base under his chin and positioned himself rightly. He had the perfect song for this occasion. One that always filled his heart with happiness, and a sense of home.

Bink's Brew played out over the deck like it had hundreds of times before. Over time, it's rendition had become undone, sombre, creepy almost. Reflecting the state of the ship, the crew, and the musician playing.

This time was different. For the first time in decades it was filled with life! Upbeat and merry as the notes danced across the deck. So joyful was the tune, the mist around Brook seemed to lighten up ever so slightly. The memory of the Rumbar Pirates returned to him. The image as strong as the roots that held his hair to his head. Brook was seeing faces he'd long thought forgotten. All of them happy. None of them dying. As it should be.

This. This is what Bink's Brew was for.

Tears flowed freely as Brook belt out the lyrics with nary a care in the world. His heart was as light as air and he was determined to show it to this leaden fog. He would no longer be brought down by its mere presence any more! In more ways than one, Brook was free.

As the dancing and the music continued for hours on end. The sorry little teacup and saucer lay forgotten.

.o0o.

_**(Notes: I am so sorry. **_

_**I know I said this would be updated weekly, and I apologise. Those who have come from my other story **__**Tranquil Nights**_ _**know I'm usually good to my word on that. **_

_**These last 2 weeks for me have been absolutely horrible, leaving me completely unable to update. First my dog had to be put down, then my computer bricked meaning I had to get a new one which took a week to arrive. Then we got a new internet provider which left me without internet access for 3 days. **_

_**Then by the time all that was done, I had fallen out of the practice of writing, so this chapter prolly seems a bit rushed, because it is. I scrambled to get this going as fast as I could. **_

_**To those reading this, Thank You so much for sticking with me after all this.**_

_**Thank you for your time.)**_


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